


Rise

by Dr_D_Fox



Series: And the Veil Divides [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Bigotry & Prejudice, Cullen has a puppy crush, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Love/Hate, Lyrium Addiction, Lyrium Withdrawal, Mages and Templars, Past Abuse, Past Torture, Polyamory, Templars
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-21
Updated: 2017-04-21
Packaged: 2018-10-22 03:04:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10688472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dr_D_Fox/pseuds/Dr_D_Fox
Summary: Companion piece to "And the Veil Divides." Commander Cullen is enamored with the woman that Andraste has thrown in their midst. However, between his duty to the Inquisition, her obvious attraction to one apostate elf, and the undeniable fact that she is a mage... How could he possibly pursue her?





	1. Find Me

**Author's Note:**

> Legal Bits: I own nothing except my own ideas, which I’m sure some law somewhere will claim I don’t own those either.  
> Warning: This is a companion piece to my other story, “And the Veil Divides.” This means that this story is meant to be read with or after the primary story. Reading it as a stand-alone will probably not make much sense, or seem a bit… off. So please, go read the main story first!  
> More Warnings: More than the others in this set, this story has multiple instances of suggested abuse, suggested non-con, PTSD, anxiety, trauma related nightmares, and other related themes. If these are triggers for you, please do not read. They are such an integral part of the story that I cannot simply tell you where to skip.

(Partner to the chapter “Heroes Beyond Counting.”)

He couldn’t quite figure out when he’d stopped thinking of her as the “Herald of Andraste”, and started thinking of her as simply Wren. Oh, he’d never actually use her nickname, not like Cassandra or even Josephine used it. He was the Commander of the Inquisition forces, and propriety demanded that he treat everyone equally and with respect, which meant official titles and full names. But that didn’t stop him from calling her by her chosen name when he thought of her. And it was strangely pleasing how often that was rapidly becoming.

It had happened so subtly. The first time he’d met her, well, awake, had been in the middle of a battle, and there was no reason for her stand out to him then. They had jobs to do, and by the Maker he’d be damned if he didn’t see his through. When she closed the Rift and stabilized the Breach, he was impressed. When she’d smiled at him for the first time, during her first meeting with the War Council, he’d been surprised. Cassandra sang her praise often enough, talking about how she’d leap into battle with the confidence of a warrior, or how she’d healed one of the scouts with deft hands and gentle words. Josephine praised her ability to use both soft words and an aura of intimidation to deftly deflect the other nobles that were starting to bother the Inquisition. Even Leliana had said a few pleasant things about the woman- her soft step meant she was capable of subtlety, her observations in the field meant that she gave wonderful accounts when they filed their reports.

Their comments on her made him curious, and on those rare times she was actually in Haven, he’d watch her. Her movements were precise, with a sense for the conservation of energy. She spoke with many small smiles and a pleasant sense of decorum. Once he’d seen her practicing battle forms with her staff, and he’d been impressed at her speed, as well as the power behind each strike. And despite everything that had happened to her, she shouldered every task they gave her, and accepted that somehow, against all odds, she was going to close the Breach.

Perhaps he _should_ blame the other women! Maybe, if they’d said a few more negative things, he wouldn’t be standing here in the middle of the night, starring at Wren while she fed a horse withered apples. Maybe, if those meddling women didn’t talk about this mage like she _was_ the Herald of Andraste, he wouldn’t be nervous enough to lose the dinner he’d barely remembered to eat. Instead, he’d be sitting in his quiet office, preparing the letters that needed to be sent out on the morrow. He could be drinking ale in the Tavern with his men. Maybe he’d actually be asleep!

No. Here he was, about to make a fool of himself in front of a woman he couldn’t help but admire.

She finally looked over her shoulder at him, and he couldn’t stop himself from looking down at his feet and rubbing his neck anxiously. He could see her watching him, and it did not help his nervousness. Her eyes did not hold anger, or contempt, or even pity. They were simply calm. When she spoke, her voice was a soft acknowledgement of his presence- “Commander.” Then she turned back to the plow horse, who nickered appreciatively.

He attempted to speak, but found his throat dry. Clearing it, he tried to walk casually to her right, coming to stand a few feet away from her side. His voice came to him, a little more strained than he’d intended, “Lady Trevelyan…” What had he come out here to say? He found himself at a loss for words now that he was actually here with her. It didn’t help that he was rapidly realizing that this was the first time they’d been alone together, and it made him incredibly nervous to not have _some_ distraction to concentrate on. Well, the horse was a distraction, sort of. No- enough of this! Taking a deep breath, turned his attention to her and said quietly, “I wanted to apologize.” _‘Maker’s breath man! Was that so difficult?_ ’

Wren seemed surprised by that- what had she expected? But he rushed through what he’d come to say, not giving her a chance to stop him, “I spoke without thought earlier, and that was unfair of me. You know some of these mages and I should trust your judgement in that matter, at least. It was rash of me to criticize a group of ma- _people_ , I know little about.” The horse started nosing at his cloak, and he reached out absent mindedly to rub its nose and try to keep it from slobbering his clothes. He felt the need to explain himself, no, not explain his away actions, but admit his shortcomings “I was a Templar for so long, that it is… _difficult_ for me to overcome some of the prejudice instilled upon us.” He looked over at her with a small smile, hoping to see one in return. “I must admit, I little expected to be working with not one, but _two_ accomplished and interesting mages. Particularly one with such hidden fires.” What? He hadn’t meant to say that last part! But the Wren gave him one of her gentle smiles that always made his stomach flutter, and he relaxed.

Cassandra had briefly explained to them some of what she’d gleaned about Wren’s experiences in the Circle, and on the road during the rebellion. It seemed she had more than fair reason to mistrust anyone who bore the Templar crest. Leliana added that there had been formal complaints made about some of the Templars in Ostwick, and that their Herald’s name had been mentioned in one particularly brutal incident. The spymaster refused to go into details, saying only that is was no wonder the girl was reported to have such violent nightmares.

Cullen took a few steps closer to her, “I will not ask what happened to make you hate the Templars so. I only ask that you do not paint us all with the same brush. I shall happily endeavor to do the same.” Closer now, he noticed the tear tracks on her face, and it twisted something in his chest to know that his earlier words had caused this. His fingers moved of their own accord, brushing one of the frosted crystals from her cheek. This was the closest he’d ever been to her, and he could make out details he hadn’t noticed before- like how her tattoo was done Dalish style, a long, painful process. Or the scar on her cheek, recent by the look of it, that only served to make her cheekbones more defined. Or the little bit of green on the outside of her iris… _‘Get yourself together!_ ’ he berated himself, before taking a few steps back to put proper distance between them again. “Please, Lady Trevelyan, do not linger out here long. My men can protect you from demons and bandits, but not from the cold.” He needed to leave before any other ridiculous things came out of his mouth or his hands stopped listening to him again.

He managed to walk around her and get four steps away before her voice called to him “Comman-… Cullen?” he stopped, worried again that she would berate him- “I… I do not think you are like them.” Oh.

His stomach swooped and he could feel his hands shaking. With a surprisingly steady voice, he replied, “Thank you, my Lady.”

“Please, call me Wren?”

Maker. Did she know what that simple question did to him? How long had he wished that he could do just that? How long had he watched her companions with envy as they joked with her and sat beside her and made her laugh? He didn’t deserve any of that. Not after what he’d said today. He would not call her anything less than her proper titles… but still… He turned back and walked slowly to just behind her, his feet moving without conscious though. Maybe just tonight, he could indulge. “Of course. Goodnight… Wren.” Being close to her again, he could see her shivering- she probably didn’t even realize it. Without thinking, he unclasped his cloak and swung it down, sliding it onto her shoulders. Before he could worry any more, he turned tail and fled with as much dignity as he could muster.

He didn’t stop until the door to his room was closed behind him, at which point he cursed himself for both his cowardice, and his lack of foresight. Well, come morning everyone would suspect him of dallying with the Herald of Andreste. He prayed to the Maker that Wren was as sneaky as Leliana insisted she could be, and would return his cloak with no suspicion. If his actions marred her name…

Still, he couldn’t stop the smile that came to his lips when he thought of her. Now _he_ had something that the others had, and even if he could not flaunt it like they did, in his mind he would still call her Wren.


	2. Still Searching

(Partner chapter to “Our Lady Shall Weep for Them”)

 

Anger boiled and hissed inside of Cullen as he led the others to the War Room. Redcliffe had been a disaster, and they all knew it- but no one wanted to rescind the ridiculous decision made by a _child._ The mage was a proud apostate! What had they expected? Why hadn’t the blasted Seeker stepped in? Why had anyone even let a _mage_ dictate the future of the rest of the _mages_? These were dangerous people who had to be guarded every hour of the day because they were too weak to avoid temptation! Abominations, blood magic, corruption, demons- _and_ it had to be magic that opened the damned Breach!

He was clenching his teeth so hard that his jaw was throbbing with pain and his hands were so tightly fisted that he could feel his nails digging into his palm. The Commander reveled in it. He let the pain keep him grounded and guard against the whispers in his head. The others were silent, even once he opened the door and led them inside. Leliana picked up a few messages that she’d left in here and handed them to Cassandra to read. Josephine shuffled some of her papers and marked things down. They were all stiff and so quiet that he couldn’t hear them breathing- and the memories in his head threatened to drown out the silence with screaming.

Cullen found himself unwillingly grateful, then, that _the_ _mage_ chose this time to walk in. Right away Cassandra handed the messages off to her and began discussing how they would rearrange Haven’s forces to accommodate the mages better. New trade routes for food and supplies to help with the new _allies_ were established and letters were written to various nobles who might be of aid. On and on the talks went, with the three other councilors trying to act like everything was completely normal. _She_ sat in one of the chairs in the corner, and ignored his barbed comments and ridiculous proposals. It didn’t seem to matter what he said, she just sat there, tugging at a loose thread on the long sleeve of her tunic.

After an hour or so, the embers inside of him started to burn down. There was a headache starting behind his eyes, and his feet were getting sore. They were having trouble deciding which routes to bring the mages up. It was hard to know what the safest, easiest road would be. Thinking it best to ask someone who’d been out in the Hinterlands regularly, Cullen addressed Wren while studying the map on the table, “What were the conditions of the High Road like the last you were there, Herald? I know there were still accounts of bandits on the eastern routes. Do you think it would be safe to bring them up this way?”

Her voice was quiet and flat, “I’m sure it would be.” He looked up, brow furrowed. Normally she would be up here and marking the route herself, explaining why the others were unsuitable. This time, she just stayed in the chair, tearing at a piece of paper absently. Was she even paying attention? Cassandra piped up, filling in for the mage and marking off areas that were still too dangerous for them to use reliably. With the new information, they modified the plan and continued on.

Twice more he addressed the girl directly, and both times she gave similarly disinterested answers. The third time he tried, Josephine actually stomped on his foot to stop him. He looked up at the normally sweet ambassador, startled. Glaring at him, she quickly changed the subject and brushed it off. Only then did Cullen start to analyze the circumstance. He looked around with a new perspective, noting the way each of the women were using gentle voices and simple questions with the young Herald. All they received were gentle agreements or barely there shrugs of her thin shoulders. It was so different from her usual enthusiastic involvement that he couldn’t help but cringe. _‘Maker, Cullen, you just can’t help ripping this woman apart, can you?_ ’

He spoke little for the rest of the meeting, instead observing Wren and replaying what had happened over and over in his mind. When Leliana finally called the meeting, saying there was nothing more they could do tonight that couldn’t be put off for a couple days, he lagged behind. The women hovered around the younger woman, speaking gently and ushering her out of the room. They didn’t even pay attention to him and the heavy door slowly swung shut behind them, leaving the Commander to stand alone. Voices beyond the door were subdued, and he stood there until they were finally silent.

Why did he have to say _any_ of that? How had he completely missed the haunted look in her eyes, or the sudden paleness to her skin, when he’d said that _she_ was as big of a threat as the Breach. Not rogue mages, not abominations, not any of the things he was actually afraid of- _her_. Wren. The sweet bird that had landed among them just when they needed such hopeful and determined youth. The beautiful creature that flew far and wide in the name of their cause, and always returned when she could easily have flown away. And here he’d been, after her great victory, willing to throw her in a cage.

A weight settled in his stomach that he could only call guilt, and he trudged out of the Chantry. He should have gone back to his room, filled out reports, maybe planned for the new training exercises. Instead, he found his feet carrying him to the Tavern. He didn’t often come here to drink by himself. Usually he went on the nights his men had free so that he could gauge their morale and talk with them- connect. Tonight, he just wanted a drink. A lifetime ago his Knight-Commander had told him that drinking didn’t solve anything, it only made more problems. Well, he’d caused so many problems already, what were a few more?

The building was nearly empty, thankfully. His soldiers were under orders to rest well tonight and the rest of the town was likely preparing for an influx of people. The ale was barely watered down, and the first two tankards went down quickly.

“Fancy seeing you here, Curly.” The familiar gruff voice of Varric sounded from beside him. Cullen turned, a little confused, when had the dwarf gotten here?

“Hello, Varric.”

The rogue slid onto the neighboring stool and ordered an ale for himself and another for the Commander. “Well, I know you aren’t here just passing time, and since you are alone, there’s only one explanation.” Varric paused to take a drink, and Cullen’s stomach dropped. This man always knew more than he should… “So let me guess, you stuck your foot in your mouth again?” Well, there it was. Cullen nodded slowly, swirling the cup around a bit. Varric nodded sagely, “That tends to happen when you start talking and stop thinking.” Instead of looking sympathetic, the dwarf scowled at him, “I hear you hurt her pretty bad this time. Care to explain?”

What? How… No, he knew how. This man had eyes and ears like a damned cat; nothing that happened in the camp, especially if it was juicy, escaped his notice. Cullen rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. Not only that, but Varric was one of those that Wren frequently took with her out to the Hinterlands and surrounding area. Anyone that spent time with that woman became protective. He’d even noticed that the normally aloof Solas hovered around the girl. Was no one free of her charm?

His drinking companion downed the rest of his drink and signaled for another for them both, “Here, I’ll start it for you- ‘Varric, I’m an idiot.’ Now you finish.”

Cullen sighed heavily, “I’m not just an idiot. I… What I said. It was purposeful.” The ale slid down his throat and he barely felt it, “I was so angry. No, I was afraid. I _am_ afraid.” His company was silent, waiting for him to continue. “You know some of what happened in Fereldan, and Kirkwall, of course. It’s been one giant mess after another. The Inquisition is my home now, and… The thought of losing it to the same mistakes…”

The dwarf nodded, “It would scare the pants off anyone. But _she_ isn’t to blame for that. If anything, she’s probably the only one here that could keep anything like that from happening. Do you understand what she’s done, Curly? She stopped the war. Something that the nobles have been trying to do for _years_ , and she stopped it in a sentence.” He looked hard at the Commander, “You don’t have to agree with her decisions, but so far, she’s the only one making those decisions.”

“I know Varric, I know. What she’s accomplished… It’s amazing. _She’s_ amazing.” He went to take a drink, but found it empty. Varric simply pushed another towards him and he nodded gratefully, “She’s done so much to help everyone. The Inquisition has been getting a lot of credit for helping the refugees and relief effort, but _we_ haven’t done anything. Every step, every action, she’s been there. Wren’s got this… this _fire_ in her. Everyone is drawn to her compassion and enthusiasm.” His voice dropped to a near whisper, “Myself included.”

A few more sips, and he turned to Varric. “I’ve seen her come back to camp with an arrowhead still embedded in her shoulder. She has stood up to the ridiculous nobles that try to discredit her with the same _fire_ she uses to stand up to a grizzly. She’s shouldered everything that has been thrown at her with a sense of duty and pride, and never wavered.” Cullen dropped his gaze to the countertop, deflated, “And today, I took that away from her. I… Maker. I’m a monster. The first person to ever defeat the Herald of Andraste… You should have seen her, just…sitting there. Empty. No anger. No frustration. No fire. Just… empty. And it was _my_ doing.”

A long silence drew out between them as both men drank their ale. Cullen wondered if that would be the end of the discussion, but of course, Varric always had to dig deeper, “If you know you were wrong, why don’t you go apologize to her again?”

Cullen sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. “Maker knows I want to. I’d give anything…” He thought about what happened at the Fereldan Circle. What happened at Kirkwall. How could he explain that to anyone? What do you even say to make them understand why you are a monster? How could he even think of asking for forgiveness, when he deserved her hatred? He was a monster. She’d forgive him. She’d take his history in stride and forgive him. But he was a monster. He didn’t deserve her forgiveness, “She wouldn’t understand.” She would just look at him with those amazing eyes and forgive him. She wouldn’t understand that he was a monster, unworthy of her affection…

Suddenly, someone grabbed the back of his shirt and yanked him off the stool. He stumbled to regain his feet, but he’d had too much ale and the world just tilted around him as the assailant dragged him outside. They threw him against the Tavern wall, and he got a good look- it was Dinall! The mage’s dark skin was flushed with rage and he snarled as he slammed his fist into the Commander’s face. There were shouts of surprise and people scrambling to get to them, but a flash of blue threw a bubble of a shield around them and tossed the soldiers that came to Cullen’s aid. He felt a fist connect with his ribs, and he struggled to fight back. Everything spun and he managed to block another swing at his face, but the next hit landed on his chin and he felt his lip burst and tasted blood. Cullen’s knee came up, hoping to break the man’s attack long enough to gain his footing, but the mage just clamped his own legs around the Commander’s and spun them around, throwing them both to the ground with the ex-Templar on the bottom.

He saw the fist rise up again, but before it could fall a small hand grabbed it and twisted it away. He felt Dinall pulled off of him and shoved back, and he struggled to his feet. Of course, it was _her_. How did she always manage to be the hero? He didn’t need to be _rescued_ ; he deserved to be hit! He deserved to be attacked!

Some of his soldiers ran up to him, and the people that had gathered around were looking at him in shock and at Dinall and Wren with fear. He couldn’t stand it, “Don’t you all have _jobs_ to do?” he snarled, and the people fled from him, except for his soldiers. They asked if he needed a healer, or if they should arrest the mages, and his temper flared again, “I need nothing. Go back to your tents. I can deal with this myself.”

Her voice was so gentle and full of concern that it hurt for him to hear it, “What in Thedas is this all about?”

He laughed, bitterness rising in his throat like bile, “Isn’t it obvious, _Herald_? One of your mages got off his _leash._ ” He wanted her hatred. He wanted to see her fire directed at him. Anything to keep from seeing her empty like that again.

It was Dinall that reacted though. The man threw himself forward again, but Wren stopped him with a touch, “Stop it,” she hissed, “it’s not worth it.” Cullen sneered at the man, daring him to defy her.

Dinall glared down at her, barely restraining himself, “What he said to you was completely out of line! He deserves every hit I landed.”

 _‘Yes, I did. So come finish the job!’_ Cullen almost screamed.

She wasn’t giving up, “Go to my cabin, Dinall.” When the other mage tried to object, she shoved him back, “No, just go. I’ll be there in a moment, alright?” Something twisted in Cullen’s chest at the obvious companionship they shared. If Josephine hadn’t explained that they were practically siblings, not lovers, he might have felt a stab of jealousy. Instead, he tried to distract himself by taking an assessment of his injuries. The fight hadn’t lasted long, but for a mage, Dinall had a hell of a punch.

Soft footsteps turned his attention back to Wren, and he stumbled away from her as she approached, disgusted that she was looking at him with such compassion. “Let me do my job, at least.” She whispered firmly, pushing his hands away from his side. He couldn’t help but stare at her in wonder and frustration. _This_ was why he could not stop thinking about her. Here she was, mending his wounds herself when she could easily have left him for the healers to tend, and after all the things he’d said to her today… He flinched when she touched his lip, pained that her skin wasn’t touching him out of affection, but of necessity. She shushed him, “It’s alright. The damage is not bad. It will be quick to heal.” Andreste preserve him, she was so gentle that he barely felt her magic stitch the bone he knew to be broken, and his heart broke instead. How could she do this so calmly?

When she was finished, her eyes found his and burned into them. There was no anger there, only a sad sort of pity. She _pitied_ him. No hate, no rage, no fear- just pity. “I will not ask what happened to make you hate the mages so.” His heart stopped at hearing his own words from her mouth, “I only ask that you do not paint us all with the same brush. I shall happily endeavor to do the same.” If he hurt before, it was nothing compared to the dagger that sunk into his chest now. . “Goodnight, Commander Cullen.”

She turned and left him standing in the snow, struck dumb by what had just happened. Maker… What had he done to deserve such kindness from her?

Varric stepped out of the shadows then, watching the mage go while he walked towards Cullen, “I’d say, Commander, that she understands perfectly.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter actually hurt to write, I was so into Cullen’s mind. I hope I portrayed his thoughts well enough. Oh the angst! I highly recommend reading the corresponding chapter in “And the Veil Divides,” as it really sheds more light on the whole situation and the misunderstandings.  
> Hope you all enjoyed. Don’t forget to R&R!


	3. For Someone

From the time the mages left camp, Commander Cullen was a wreck. He paced his study for a while, wearing a hole in the rug that covered the cobblestone floor. When the room started to feel too small and tight, he paced the Chantry instead. Back and forth, back and forth, only stopping when a messenger would come looking for him, or one of his soldiers would bring a report. It would be an hour up the trail before they even reached the Temple of Sacred Ashes, and then who knew how long it would take them to actually close the Rift. The last time they had tried, a Pride demon had been pulled out of the Veil and had nearly killed them all. Who _knew_ what monstrosity was waiting for them this time! Solas had informed them that it was unlikely that another demon would come this time, but that did little to assure Cullen. The elf might have confidence in the mages, but the commander knew that where magic was concerned, whatever _could_ go wrong, very often did.

The air seemed to still, and Cullen stopped, looking to the door with wide eyes. A deafening crash and a concussion in the air brought him running outside, like so many others. All eyes turned to the Breach, and they watched as the ribbon of power that had connected the Breach to the giant Rift below dissipated into nothing. Cheers went up, and someone thumped his shoulders. All he could do was sigh in relief. _‘She’s done it._ ’

It didn’t take long for the celebration to start. Casks of rum were rolled out along with cheap ale, and bonfires sprang up in Haven and outside of it where the soldiers camped. People pulled out instruments and struck up in song. Cullen smiled, but did not yet give his soldiers leave to celebrate. Those that were off duty could, but the rest would have to wait until the Herald returned. He didn’t want to risk something having happened and have all his soldiers too far gone to help.

He took up watch at the gate tower, waiting until he saw the mages marching back down the road- with Wren at their head. Pride swelled in his chest for her, and he cursed himself for not speaking with her sooner. He needed to apologize. Again. Let her finish with what must be done now, but he swore to the Maker that he would get an apology to her _tonight._

Returning to the Chantry, he told Josephine and Leliana that the Herald was returning and the three of them went to the War Room to wait. Cassandra would bring the mage here, and they could discuss what happened, and what the next steps needed to be. He riffled through a few papers, plucking the important ones out and setting them aside. There was a pensive sort of silence over all of them as they waited.

The door flew open and Cassandra strode in triumphantly. Cullen relaxed, as did the other councilors. If Cassandra was pleased, then nothing had gone wrong. His eyes tracked the young mage when she finally walked in, but she never once looked at him. Instead, she sat everyone down and immediately began a retelling of what had happened, with Cassandra filling anything in she missed. The two of them explained a few theories they had discussed on the way down, and their decision to leave guards at the Breach. The entire time, Cullen watched her. She had her confidence again, and her fire, though she seemed tired. Who could blame her? The power of a few _dozen_ mages had been pushed through her in order to close the Rift- though if Cassandra was right, she might not have needed even half that number. It was obvious to all of her traveling companions that her powers were growing, and her control over the Mark was deepening.

Cullen marveled at the way she controlled the conversation with just as much ease as she did her magic. With her direction, they quickly decided who would get detailed accounts of the closing, and who would get simply brief explanations. With deft words she guided them on where to look for information about those who might be responsible for the Breach and the death of the Divine, and wrote a few quick letters to some of the people she’d made contact with since joining the Inquisition.

They worked for a few hours before Josephine finally called it a night, “There is nothing more that _must_ be done this instant. Right now, our people wish to celebrate a triumph for the Inquisition, and they should see us out there celebrating-“ she pointed her quill to Wren, “-especially you, Herald.”

Wren smiled a little and shrugged, “Should I go wave my hat about and smile at them, Ambassador?”

Josephine laughed, “Yes, that is just about what they need.”

As everyone else filed out, Cassandra stopped before Cullen could go out the door, and shut it behind the rest of them, turning on the Commander with a scowl, “I have some things to say to you, before we join the celebrations, _Commander._ ” Cullen gulped and tensed up, taking a few cautious steps back. Cassandra stepped forward, not letting him escape her that easily, “We have given you a week to make amends with the Herald. One. Week. And you have done nothing. You _will_ apologize for your behavior _tonight._ ”

Once again, one of Wren’s companions showed just how protective they had all become over her, Cullen put up his hands in an attempt to placate the angry Seeker, “I assure you, I had every intention of doing so.”

With a snort, the woman stepped back, “Good. She did well today, and the mages too. It would do you both good for her to hear that from _you._ ” Turning on her heel, she opened the door and marched out after the others, leaving a slightly flabbergasted Cullen to follow slowly in her wake. Cassandra was a little scary sometimes.

He hadn’t made it past the Chantry doors when another of Wren’s companions stopped him, “Commander, a word?” Solas stepped out from under the shadow of a tree, his face in its usual passive mask.

“Of course.” Cullen stopped, a little apprehensive that he was about to get yet another lecture.

The elf tipped his head and paused, keeping his voice low so that their conversation was fairly private, “I spent a time studying the Breach and the area where the Rift was. The Rift is truly gone, though the Breach remains, obviously. However, I think that, while there is no current danger from demons or further Rifts in the area, we should still leave a large contingent of soldiers and mages up there.”

Cullen nodded, relieved that this conversation was purely business, “Yes, Cassandra and Lady Trevelyan said much the same thing. I have already sent word to a few of my troops to head out there, but how many of the mages should stay with them?” He tried not to cringe, and knew that he would have to trust _all_ of his soldiers- whether they wield sword of staff.

Solas seemed to anticipate the question, “I have asked for volunteers among the older mages. There were two dozen that I trust to handle anything that comes up. I would recommend sending all of those- though the Wren should be consulted as well.”

It was so strange to hear the mage refer to Wren by her preferred name. He was such a formal creature most of the time, and it only reminded Cullen further that he did not share the relationship that the others did with their Herald. “I-I shall ask her.”

Solas stare seemed to become a little cold and his voice became sharper, “Good. It will remind you that the Mark on her hand is not the only purpose she has served for you Inquisition.” The elf turned abruptly away, and Cullen found himself almost laughing, despite the burning shame that flamed his cheeks. Well, that was all four of the woman’s companions that had chastised him for his behavior, though he was glad that only one of them chose to use their fist. He wondered idly if that Tevinter, Dorian, was yet protective enough of their little bird to come and berate him as well. If he wished to protect his hide and ears, he felt it best to seek out the Herald sooner than later. Looking around, he found her standing not far off with Cassandra. The two were speaking softly, watching the revelries.

The conversation did not seem intense, so he started walking towards them, hoping for a chance to request a moment of Wren’s time. As he got closer, however, the flutter in his stomach got worse and he worried that when he finally opened his mouth, only a flock of butterflies would come out. Or he’d vomit. Either way, not a terribly attractive look for the Commander of the Inquisition’s army.

The Seeker spotted him over the mage’s shoulder, and he was close enough now that he could hear what they were saying, “Think on it, Wren. I am not the only one who wishes you would stay.” Cassandra’s eyes were on him and she gave him a tip of her head. The butterflies promptly turned to led and dropped to the bottom of his feet. Damn that woman. She was too good at observing the things and people around her.

Wren turned around to see who Cassandra was indicating, but when her eyes met his, he dropped his gaze. That was not fire in her gaze- but ice. Her rubbed his neck self consciously, flinching when she spoke, “Commander.”

Trying to regain control of himself, he took a few steps forward, “L-lady Trevelyan.” ‘ _Damnit man! Can’t you even open your mouth around her without stuttering?_ ’ He straightened up, trying to feign at least a modicum of confidence, “I came to congratulate you and the mages. It- it was a well done.” It took a lot not to roll his eyes at himself. It was well done? Idiot.

Her gaze did not soften and she lifted her marked hand, “The _mages_ deserve your thanks, Commander, not I. After all, _I_ was only there for the Mark.” He flinched again, unable to hide the cringe. He deserved that, but that didn’t make it hurt any less. Maker… This isn’t how it was supposed to go. He needed to apologize _now_ , and try to make amends.

As he opened his mouth, the warning bells began to ring. Without hesitation, they both made for the gates. One of his runners intercepted him, “An unmarked army, Commander! We can’t count the numbers. Most is still over the pass.”

Cullen’s body tensed, “Allies?” He could only hope-

“No, ser. Only one watchman checked in. The rest are dead or missing.”

He felt his face pale, and he turned to address Haven, “Forces approaching! To arms!” He pulled his sword and ran with his soldiers the rest of the way. The other councilors were already running to meet him. “Only one watch guard reporting,” he spared a glance at the spymaster before continuing; “It’s a massive force, the bulk of it over the mountain.”

Josephine too held a hope that these were allies, “Under what banner?”

He gave her a look that denied that hope, “None.”

Much of the night flew by in a daze. The stranger named Cole. Samson at the side of a monstrosity called the Elder One. The twisted creatures that the Templars had become. He fought beside his soldiers for a short while, at least until they had cleared the first trebuchet and the area around the gate, then he rushed to call in anyone still stuck outside of Haven. The horses were herded in along with as much of the blacksmiths supplies as they could bring. Those mages that were in the camp, unable to fight or untrained yet in battle magic were brought in to help heal any wounded- who were being taken to the Chantry.

Cullen finally had the chance to watch Wren fight, and almost wished he didn’t have to leave her side. She was a force to be reckoned with. He had not noticed the spike at the end of her staff until she spun it around and jammed it through the eye-holes of a helmed Templar, running magic down its length until fire exploded out of the armor shell. Lightening seemed to protect her, flashing out at enemies that approached without her even looking at them. If they had even a dozen mages of her caliber, they would never have to worry about any army. ‘ _But there_ are _no mages like her, are there?_ ’ He couldn’t watch her forever, though, he had a job to do, and so did she.

By the time they’d cleared and fired the third trebuchet, Cullen was starting to feel like they might actually survive this- until the _beast_ showed up and blasted through their defense. In one pass over his forces, the dragon destroyed their primary line of defense. With a heavy heart, he called the retreat.

He tried to take a head count as his soldiers ran inside, but there were so many and he really only wanted to be sure of one- there! She was bringing up the rear, Solas and Varric just ahead of hear. As soon as she passed, he slammed the gates shut- not that they would keep out the demon. “We need everyone back to the Chantry! It’s the only building that might hold against… That _thing_.”

He turned, knowing that she was their only line of defense during the retreat, “At this point, just make them work for it.” It killed him to say that, but with a monster like that flying at their front, the army would now have no trouble wiping Haven off the map. He swallowed it all down, and played his part as the Commander of their army. She gave him a nod, her eyes wide but determined. _‘Maker… Let me see her again._ ’

Leaving her and her companions to clear out the rest of Haven, he slung an arm under one of his limping soldiers and helped drag the man to the stone Chantry. Over the cries for help and shouted orders, he could hear the fighting getting closer. They were surely inside the walls by now. A concussive blast and the crackle of lightning told him that Wren had engaged the enemy- it was only a matter of time now.

Inside, he gathered his soldiers- those that were still able to stand- and took a count. They’d lost over half their forces, including most of their battle mages. The fact that the entire population of Haven now fit inside the Chantry was enough to tell him how bad their losses were. ‘ _Not the_ entire _population. She is still fighting._ ’ Over and over his eyes drifted to the doors, where a few of the soldiers and mages stood watch, trying to keep any stray enemies from coming in while still allowing the handful of people left in the town to enter.

Time seemed to drag, and he wanted nothing more than to go out there himself and fight these beasts at her side- but his duty was to his men.

The last trickle of people came through the doors, along with the one they were all waiting to see. He rushed towards her, determined to give her an honest report- it was his duty. “Herald! Our position is not good.” They stopped near the doors, and he tried to keep his low, so as not to panic those that were nearby. “That dragon stole back whatever time you managed to earn us.” He saw her face fall, and he wished to any god that was listening that he could have told her something better. But it wasn’t in his nature to soften this kind of blow.

The strange boy- Cole?- spoke from where he crouched beside the Chancellor, . “I’ve seen an Archdemon before, while I was in the Fade. It looked like _that._ ”

Cullen’s temper flared. He knew it was no ordinary dragon, but he had no interest in further draining the morale of their men, , “I don’t care what it is- it just cut a path for the incoming army! They will kill _everyone_ in Haven!”

The boy shook his head slowly, his eyes on Wren, “The Elder One doesn’t care about the village. He only wants the Herald.” Cullen’s vision swam for a moment, and for a moment he lost the thread of the conversation until he heard Cole say, “I don’t like him.”

Cullen couldn’t believe what he was hearing, “You don’t-“ shaking his head, he turned to Wren, “Herald, there are _no_ tactics that make this survivable.” He had to get it through their heads. “The only thing that slowed them down was that avalanche. If we could use the remaining trebuchets, make one last slide…”

Stubbornness flared in her eyes, and he was almost relieved to see the fire return, “If we do that, we would be bringing that avalanche here- down on our people. That is unacceptable.”

Oh how he wanted to agree with her! How he wished he could have any form of optimism! But right now, the most they could hope for was to take some of this army with them. “We’re dying, but we can decide how. Most don’t get that choice.”

Chancellor Rodrick spoke then about the pass he’d found in his youth- his breathing heavy and difficult to understand- but if he was right, if there was a way out… Wren turned to Cullen, her eyes pleading, “What do you think Cullen? If I can keep the army distracted, can you make it work?”

A flicker of hope sprang in his chest. They might just have a chance to save everyone. “Possibly. _If_ he can show us the path.” But it meant… He stepped closer to her, unable to keep his voice even or his face the neutral mask of a commander, “What of your escape?”

When she turned away, his felt like his heart was breaking. He wanted to turn her around and hold her to him, but his hand barely brushed her arm, “Perhaps you will surprise it? Find a way…” There was no way to continue that statement. Suicide. What she was proposing was suicide. But it would save everyone, and it was likely the only thing that could.

Pulling himself back together, he turned and began barking orders to his men. If she was going to sacrifice herself, he’d make sure it would actually matter. His men came quickly, ready to do as he commanded- even they knew that their actions would mean the life, or death, of the Inquisition and _everyone_ here. With their orders given, Cullen turned back to the Herald. “They’ll load the trebuchets while you distract the Elder One. You _must_ keep him occupied until we are past the tree line.” She gave him a short nod, fear and determination evident in her eyes, and moved to follow the soldiers out, “If we have a chance- if _you_ are to have a chance- let that thing hear you!”

His eyes tracked her as she went to the door. He was almost grateful that she was forcing Cassandra to stay- the Commander _would_ need the Seeker’s help, and they could not afford to lose her if the Inquisition was to have any chance. He was surprised that Wren would not allow Solas to go with her, but was even more surprised when the elf did not put up a fight. Still, he was another person they would need, if they were to close the Breach. Once the brief goodbyes were over, the young mage, their savior, walked out behind the soldiers, and the heavy doors closed behind her. It was the sound of finality, and Cullen had to clench his teeth to keep his emotions in check. ‘ _I never told her I was sorry.’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not terribly happy with this chapter, but whatever.   
> Don’t forget to R&R, or at least let me know you are reading it!


	4. To Lead Me

There was no time for mourning, no time for fear, no time for anything but his job. Cullen turned from the doors of the Chantry and began to shout orders to every soldier near him. He had them gathering supplies from the storerooms below and grouping people together by age and strength, to ensure that no one got left behind and that every group had soldiers and mages alike to keep them safe. He sent a few of his stealthier men to round up the horses from outside and take them to the back of the Chantry where, Cole explained, the Chancellor’s escape route was. With the strange boys help, Cullen managed to get the information they needed to get everyone to safety- or at least, away from the terrors of the coming army.

He wouldn’t think about the fighting outside. He wouldn’t think about her throwing herself in that monster’s path, just so they could escape. He wouldn’t think about any of it. The future of the Inquisition rested on her doing her job, and him doing his, and that was they only thought he would allow to dominate his mind.

Cassandra volunteered to lead the way with the strange boy and Chancellor Rodrick, so Cullen took up the rear of the group and told himself firmly it was to ensure that no stragglers were left behind. What little lyrium was in his still in his body was humming through him, powered by adrenaline and desperation. Soldiers and scouts and chantry folk were cramming whatever they could into bags and heading out the door. _We are going to starve to death, but at least we’ll have the damned paperwork,_ he groused, even as he shoved what he could from his own office into his pack. Treaties and proof of contracts and papers stating what sort of goods the Inquisition had stored for their military force across Fereldan. When he could put it off no longer, he followed the last of the scouts out of the Chantry. One last look, one last backward glance at the doors, and he left, then closing the way behind him. Betrayal and guilt and the memory of a time when he’d turned his back on those in need, dogged his steps. Determination was the only thing that kept him going- a stubbornness to survive and ensure that her sacrifice was not in vain.

Just as the Chancellor had said, the path was hidden at first, but quickly became apparent to those fleeing the chaos of Haven. As if by Andreste’s hand, the trees and bushes and even the mountains themselves seemed to conspire to keep the little place hidden and safe, but never overgrown. It was quiet, no thunder of marching armies, not rumbling of the first avalanche’s remnants, no screams of the dead and dying. Even his inner demons seemed quieted by the peace of this path. Twenty minutes of full out flight and the Inquisition forces were far enough away, with a small mountain between them and Haven, for Cullen to give the signal. The scout beside him was standing on a jutting rock, arrow poised to dip into the torch held by another. Cullen looked up the path they had just come, hoping to see a figure struggling through the snow- but nothing. He couldn’t even bare to look towards Haven. He was about to give a signal to their savior so that she could bury herself and the red army. When history spoke of this… would it be kind? Would the future generations forgive him? Could he ever forgive himself?

His eyes turned to the scout, and he gave one short nod before turning away. A high whistle, of the the arrow piercing the night sky, was the only sound he could hear. The order took almost no time to give, but an eternity to execute. He waited. One breath. Two. Three. Four. Had she stayed alive this long? Would their flight mean nothing after all? No- the ground beneath him shook and a dull rumble started into a deafening roar as the mountain came down on their abandoned home.

It was done.

His feet carried him forward as the blizzard finally broke around them, but he didn’t feel the cold. His soldiers filed ahead of him, pausing here and there to help stumbling refugees, but he didn’t see them. The Inquisition was safe, for now, and in a few hours’ time they would have to make camp, but he didn’t care. For a time, he let himself be numb. There was no time to mourn, not yet, but he could at least be numb, if only for a little while.

Cullen wasn’t sure how long they hiked through these abandoned mountains. The monotony of it all was broken only by the occasional stops for food, rest, and water, and of course- the reports of those who were dying on the trail. Leliana suggested burying their dead here in the mountains, but Cullen quickly cut that idea off before it could grow. “We take our dead with us, for a proper burial.” His tone brokered no arguments, and soon enough they reorganized one of the wagons strictly for the dead. He could not help but memorize every name that was brought to him. Some of them had faces he knew, others he regretted knowing only their names. Each one was another log upon the funeral pyre his mind built for the Herald (even in his thoughts, he dared no speak her name). Every life lost was another mark against him, another failure. Like Kinloch. Like Kirkwall. Now Haven.

He didn’t realize they had stopped until he practically stumbled into one of the wagons. One of his men rushed to help him, but Cullen waved him off impatiently. Annoyed at the delay, he stomped around the wagon with the intention of telling everyone to keep moving, only to find that they were unpacking and setting up camp. Spying Leliana nearby, directing some of the mages in where to get some fires going, he pushed past the soldiers and refugees to snarl at her in a voice not meant to carry, “Why are we stopping? That army could be right behind us and break through the camp at any moment!”

The spymaster turned a sharp gaze onto him, her expression somewhere between sorrow and annoyance, “Look around you Commander. Not only is it too dark to proceed through a growing blizzard, but the people are exhausted. My scouts are all around us. We will know, sooner, if the red army comes.”

Sure enough, when Cullen stopped growling long enough to observe the people around him, he saw just how tired they all were. Those who were not being directly ordered were simply lingering, looking around with empty eyes or sobbing into the arms of others. They were covered in snow and ash and blood. The few children that had been in Haven were clinging to their parents or to those who were looking after them, some whimpering helplessly, some just staring without understanding the upheaval in their life. A few soldiers were helping their injured brothers and sisters into the first few tents that had been erected, and others were placing the dead into the cart and covering them. Everyone was tired, terrified, and just trying to stay standing long enough to not die in the cold. Leliana was right. They couldn’t keep going tonight.

Deflating a little, he nodded before turning to take over those soldiers who weren’t yet setting up camp. “You there! I want you and three others to scout a perimeter for this camp. If this blizzard gets much worse, we may not be able to leave this spot for a few days. You, help those mages get fires going. I want to see cooking pots on all of them in ten minutes!” Where he moved, chaos turned to order, and the Inquisition set down its roots for the night. There were wounded to tend to, reports to be made, and refugees to be fed. Throughout it all, the demons in his head screeched louder and louder, until they became a roar like an avalanche. The adrenaline from earlier was gone, and he feared he would succumb to the madness inside if he stopped for a moment. Sheer stubborn will kept him on his feet, and the desire to ensure that they did not escape the disaster in Haven just to freeze to death in this cold wilderness. Already Leliana and Cassandra were conferring with scouts to try to find out where exactly they were, much less where they were going. Josephine was gathering all the papers that had been salvaged and trying to organize them. And Cullen… Cullen was about to collapse where he stood.

A touch on his shoulder revived his whirling mind, and he turned to see Solas trying to get his attention. How long had he been standing there? “I’m sorry. Say that again?”

“I said that Cole believes the Herald is alive.”

The world swayed, then snapped into place. Eyes wide and energy returned, the Commander stepped up to the elf, his voice a desperate plea, “Where? How?”

“The how is complicated, but he said she is coming. Perhaps a search party-“

Cullen didn’t let him finish, he turned and pointed to the closest group of soldiers, “You! With me! One of you gather any other soldiers who are not doing essential work. We are forming a search party for the Herald.”

Cassandra’s head snapped up and the Seeker stalked over to him, fury on her face, “Commander! We can ill afford to send men out on an empty quest-“

He cut her off with a gesture as he pulled his cloak more firmly over his shoulders and checked to make sure his sword was clear in its scabbard, “She is alive. I won’t leave her to the blizzard.”

“And how do you know this?”

“Solas.” The name was short, and he saw the Seeker turn to the elf in surprise. Not waiting for a second confirmation, he led his men through the camp, back towards the winding path the Inquisition had taken. It was only now that he realized how bad the storm had gotten. They seemed to be sheltered from the brunt of it, nestled as they were among towering peaks, but outside of that the wind still howled and drifts of snow, waist high in some places, slowed their progress out of the valley.

With what energy he had left, he grabbed a hold of the lyrium remnants in his veins, and pushed outward with his senses, searching for any trace of magic. There was so little left in him, and it was burning away rapidly. He cursed himself for not bringing his philter with him, for not taking it as soon as Haven was attacked, for not being strong enough to feel her magic in this desolate, snowy waste. The demons laughed at him, mocking him for yet another failure and he wanted to claw his eyes out to take away the images that fluttered to the surface, things he had not dwelled on since _she_ had joined.

Using his arm to block some of the wind, he signaled to his men, “I want half of you to come with me, and half of you to go down the other side of the valley we came up. Look for any sign- a figure, a fire, a spark of green. _Anything._ ”

“I’m coming with you, Cullen.” Cassandra’s voice cut through the wind, and he turned, giving her a grateful nod.

“Very well. The more the better. But no one lose sight of your party! I don’t want to send another search out tonight!”

The spread out, two arms lengths between them, and marched forward. He wanted to break free and run, calling her name, find her _now_ , not in an hour, not in a day, not already dead and frozen. But they had to do this right. If he went storming off into the snow there was no guarantee that he’d see her, and instead would end up dead in the snow himself.

The wind howled and whipped up snow into their faces, blowing some of the smaller scouts over as they clambered over the lip of the valley and onto rock piles for a better view. Cullen merely trudged on, his legs moving mechanically, his eyes examining every shadow, every lump of snow, every spark that reacted to his lyrium fueled search. Sweat formed at his brow and froze in his hair, and he could see some of his men pulling their tunics up over their faces, or wrapping their cloaks tighter. How long could they search before risking frostbite? How long did they have before Wren succumbed to the cold herself? Yes, she was a mage, but that would be of no use to her if she was already exhausted from fighting. What if they didn’t find her in time? What if-

“Commander! Over there!”

A crackle of green, barely visible in the snow, and the figure wobbling collapsed. “The Herald!” He threw himself forward, barreling through the snow to reach her. She’d collapsed onto her side, her lips so dark blue and cracked that they looked like ice themselves. Her eyes were closed, but he could just see the puffs of breath still escaping. Unwrapping his cloak as he closed the distance, he knelt in the snow and gathered her in his arms, pulling the heavy fabric around her, “Herald, can you hear me?” There was no response as he lifted her to his chest, hunching over her to protect her from the wind. His voice was barely audible above the sounds around him, but he clung to her in desperate hope, “Herald- Wren. Please, stay with me.” She groaned softly, turning her head towards him. Hope flared brightly in his chest and he stood again, pushing back through the snow. His eyes were for her only, and had he not been so utterly worn out, he would have cried for joy, “We found you, Wren. You’re safe. I have you.” The words wove in and out of his lips and mind, keeping him going as much as he imagined it kept her alive. Camp was his only goal, and fire.

Cassandra took over the orders, getting the soldiers and scouts to leap into action. “One of you, get the healers! Have a tent readied and get a fire going! She’s frozen through.” She led Cullen back, breaking the way through the snow for him. By the time they made it back, the news had already spread like wildfire, and the camp was clamoring to see their savior, back from the dead. Solas and Dinall were already waiting at a tent, both downing lyrium potions to prepare for the intense healing that was bound to take place.

Varric held the flap open while Cullen brought her in, and as Dinall unwrapped the cloak, they all drew a collective breath. “Maker’s saggy… How did she survive?” the dwarf whispered, expressing the sentiment of those present. One side of her face was a mass of bruises, blood was frozen to her ear where it had obviously been trickling down. Even through the leather armor, they could see a dark red stain coming from her side. It appeared that one of her ankles was broken, or at least twisted, and any skin that was showing was blue-white with cold.

Solas did not wait, only blinked once, cursing under his breath in elvish, then placed his hands over her face to begin healing her head. Cullen understood the need to start there. Blood from the ears could mean damage that would kill her more surely than the cold or whatever wounds on her side. Dinall began pulling her leather armor off, cursing softly. Varric turned and pushed Cullen out of the tent, despite his protestations, “No woman, no matter how close to death, wants everyone to see her naked. Those two have the excuse of being healers. I’m sure they’ll let you back in once they’ve bandaged her.”

Cullen dug his heels in at the tent entrance, where Cassandra was standing with a pale, but determined face, “I expect regular updates, Seeker.” She gave him one long look, before nodding and stepping aside to let him and the dwarf pass.

The cold mountain air hit him hard and he stopped, waiting to adjust to the sudden cold. He hadn’t even realized how warm the tent had been, but when he glanced back at it, he could see the glowing runes over the canvas, and Dorian at the back of the tent casting more. Their mages might not have much strength left, but they were giving everything they had to save their Herald. Not because she was some magical person, but because of who _she_ was- Wren. His mind played back every smile they’d shared, every flirting remark, every angry scowl. She had helped so many, she had changed so much. To lose her now…

_Maker… Watch over your child._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo! Another chapter! I’ve been concentrating on the main story lately, but I felt like updating this one tonight. Hope you all enjoyed, and don’t forget to drop me a comment! Everyone knows us writers like to know when people enjoy our work.

**Author's Note:**

> Woot! First chapter from Cullen’s POV! Much like the Solas POV chapters, these will likely be brief little snippets, generally only involving direct interactions with Wren or things she doesn't see but is connected to. Cullen doesn’t get a lot of time with her before Skyhold, so I felt like it was silly to include all the pointless things before this scene. Besides, I really liked this scene, and his view on it makes me giggle. These chaps will come out slower than the main and probably slower than Solas POV to start with.  
> Anyways, hope you all enjoy!


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